The night before the vote, Wolfe didn't leave the tower.
Neither did Evelyn.
She was in the war room—an inner sanctum two floors below his office, filled with screens, forecasts, data charts glowing like constellations. She had lost track of time until the door opened softly.
Wolfe entered, no jacket, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. He looked more human than she'd ever seen him.
"You should sleep," he said.
She glanced at the screen. "So should you."
He stepped closer. "I don't sleep before battles. I sharpen the sword."
She raised an eyebrow. "And I'm part of your weaponry now?"
"No," he said. "You're the reason I still fight."
Silence fell—thick and electric.
Evelyn stepped away from the monitor. "Why did you really bring me into this?"
He was quiet, eyes scanning hers.
"Because the moment you crashed into me in the lobby, everything I knew began to bend. You weren't afraid of me. You didn't bow. You didn't flinch."
"I didn't know who you were," she said.
"You still don't," he murmured. "But you see me."
She moved closer. "And what do you see when you look at me?"
He hesitated—but only for a second. "Everything I've spent my life locking out."
Evelyn's voice was barely above a whisper. "So what happens when two locked doors meet?"
He took one more step. "They either stay shut… or they break open."
Her breath caught as he reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"I'm not good at this," he said. "Feelings. People. Trust."
She leaned into his hand. "Then don't be good. Just be real."
He kissed her.
Slow. Controlled. But there was fire underneath—years of restraint cracking all at once. She kissed him back, not out of impulse, but out of inevitability.
When they pulled apart, they stood there—foreheads touching, the world outside forgotten.
"I don't want to lose you," he whispered.
"You won't," she said. "But tomorrow… don't just fight for the company."
He nodded. "I'm fighting for us now."
Outside, the tower slept.
Inside, two people had finally woken up.